Hope
by BlackMagic13
Summary: Sometimes even the strongest of us lose hope. The battle to get it back is always worth fighting for though. Can Aragorn help Legolas restore faith before it is too late? ONESHOT R&R please!


A/N: Hey guys, this is a oneshot based on the movie version of LOTR. I haven't seen the movie in a while though so that might be a problem but oh well. Anyway, this is my take on events. Sorry if grammar and punctuation is a bit haywire.. but please enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything LOTR.

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**_"He who does not hope to win has already lost." -- Jose Joaquin Olmedo_**

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**HOPE**

Aragorn swallowed and slowly sheathed his silver sword with a resounding grate that echoed throughout the empty chamber. Battle was near. He could hear the commanding voices of men shouting outside; the edge of fear in their words poorly concealed. Rohan was sadly unprepared and the only battle drums to open the anticipated battle were the frantic pounding of everyone's hearts. Aragorn closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. He had been in countless battles more than these men and although he had been more hopelessly outnumbered before, he knew that the only way men would prevail tonight would be with hope and some faith.

A sudden thunder of footsteps echoed past the chamber door and Aragorn's eyes snapped open instinctively ready to launch himself forward to take command of the men. But by the calm voices of a select few outside the door, Aragorn knew that the orcs had not been sighted nor had any indication of an attack been pronounced. Nevertheless, he knew that it was time to leave his room of serenity and join the throngs of highly panicked soldiers.

With a measured pace, he walked out of the room and into the twilight. Hasty snatches of conversation reached his ears as he carefully tried to weave around the crowd of soldiers assembled at the uppermost floor of Helms Deep. As he made his way to a front section of the wall where most of the elves of Galahdrim had assembled, he felt a twinge of surprise that Legolas was not among them. Aragorn paused at the edge of the wall and rested his hands on the cold, smooth edges of the stone.

"They approach," the elf beside him murmured.

Aragorn jerked his head up and peered out into the dim light at the bare horizon, yet he saw nothing. He turned his head and gazed questioningly at the warrior beside him, stiff and dignified. "I cannot see them."

The elf did not answer and for a moment, Aragorn wondered if he had been heard but although the elf continued staring forward, his lips parted and he said: "Nor can I, yet I can hear them. The earth shakes under their footsteps and the wind carries their ill words."

Aragorn restlessly leaned forward again and strained his hearing but his mere human ears were unable to't catch the sound of his enemies approaching. _Elves…_ He thought with mixed sarcasm and amazement. Legolas always had a knack for sensing danger before he could… This last thought caused his stomach to clench uncomfortably and he nodded a farewell to the elf continuing to stare straight ahead at the horizon.

There was still something he had to do.

As Aragorn walked away from the elves, it struck him how contrasting the demeanors of the elves and the men of Rohan were. On the faces of the men, their jaws were grimly set and shadowy fear danced blatantly through their eyes. A sort of gloom rested on their panicked steps and some were even trembling. Yet Aragorn observed that the elves, who probably had a much accurate and grim realization of what was to occur, illustrated only a decisive resolution on their nearly emotionless fair faces. Though the men of Rohan were all presumably too panicked to sit down and think about it, it was incredible that the elves of Lorien were sacrificing their immortal lives for a cause that the men themselves didn't even believe in. This was the reason why there was someone Aragorn needed to speak with. And there wasn't much time.

Without warning, a strained voice drifted up from somewhere below, and many of the men including Aragorn, rushed to the side of the wall to peer down at the scout waiting for the doors to emit him within the battlement.

The wide-eyed scout tilted his head up at the attentive men above as his sweat-stained horse pranced nervously, flinging her head about. "They'll be here in no less than twenty minutes," He called anxiously, answering the unspoken question.

"Is it true that their number reaches ten thousand?" An anxious voice inquired.

The doors of Helms Deep swung open and as the scout slowly rode through, the haunted look in his eyes was confirmation enough before he disappeared within.

Frustrated, Aragorn swung away from the edge of the wall and gruffly pushed his way through the crowd. He was incredulous as to why King Theoden was not currently present and motivating his warriors. They would not win; they _could_ not win if there was no hope.

Already some of the more cowardly soldiers were staking out the safest locations in the fort, away from the front of the wall. Yet those with stouter hearts knew their place and had stationed themselves at the front of the line, hands anxiously fingering rustic bows.

Aragorn's heart clenched when he saw Hamas gingerly place himself at the front of the wall with a set jaw and determination burning in his dark eyes. The boy was too young for all of this. In a way, he reminded Aragorn of himself when he was a child; both their fathers brutally murdered, raised as a warrior, faced horrors few had known in their lifetimes. But this was how it had to be, and no one, not even Aragorn had the right to change another's destiny.

Deftly, he swung around Gamlee, making his way toward the king no doubt, who would presumably be stationed somewhere safe but central.

Yes, the pieces were nearly set, and he knew exactly where his friend would be among them.

Legolas stood quite still, feeling the quaint breeze trace the line of his jaw and rustle his golden hair. It was the calm before the storm quite literally and already dark, ominous clouds were assembling overhead. He closed his eyes and listened to the wind carrying the hushed whispers of men and the hateful voices of orcs from far away. It was nearly time. This was the reason he had come up to an isolated part of the wall by himself. Although he would have liked to spend time with his kin and friends before the battle, the warrior within him needed to remain alone. He needed to be at peace.

Footsteps sounded behind him now; steady and measured like the path of the sun across the sky. He knew those steps.

"Legolas…?"

Legolas opened his eyes and turned slowly to face his friend.

Aragorn said nothing more but quietly joined his side by the wall. They remained like that for awhile. No words were passed between them but both seemed to understand. Their thoughts were the same, for they both were warriors of the heart.

Finally Aragorn turned and looked quizzically at Legolas, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Is there hope in your heart, my friend?"

Legolas sighed and returned the man's level gaze. "Aye, hope enough for a part of my heart." Guilt flooded over him as he recalled their earlier conversation of words that never should have been spoken.

"You were right," the man breathed quietly. "The men of Rohan have no hope for themselves. The fear clouds their eyes and settles around them like a dark shadow. "

Legolas said nothing.

"What is more," Aragorn continued, "I feel as though I am bluffing my way through the evening. It is true, I suppose, that most of us or all of us shall perish tonight but not without cause. There is never death without cause."

Legolas quietly accepted his friend's words as true. He glanced back at the horizon and stiffened when he noticed an edge of a shadow creeping over the distant hills; a dark line slowly thickening into tiny marching figures. The orcs were here.

Aragorn's eyes flickered almost casually over the front line of the orcs, silently acknowledging their presence. "Legolas, mellon nin, what has been troubling you since we've been here?"

Legolas didn't take his eyes off of the orcs. His keen eyes detected the jagged edges of their weapons that would soon spill crimson blood and the sickly white hand of Saruman painted across their armor and over their mottled skin. Orcs had been elves once. Not these of course, since they were Uruk kai, stronger and more elite than regular orcs-more apt for killing, or so Legolas had heard. But they still resembled their original kind, and that for Legolas, was enough to send tiny trills of horror down his spine as he thought of an elf he had once known that had been turned into an orc. And he had killed him, for the elf wasn't his friend anymore and had become what Legolas was born to destroy. He had never told Aragorn of this, and he didn't plan on it. Narrowing his eyes and turning away in disgust, he faced his friend once more, trying to mask the look of hatred he could feel twisting his face.

"For nearly my entire life, Aragorn, I have been battling these monsters. The darkness that they are a part of has captured my home and destroyed the lives of those I love. They killed my mother as well as your father and every year, more of Mirkwood is lost to the shadows despite all efforts that my kin and I make." Legolas could hear the bitterness in his voice and he took a breath to try to control the edge. "I have been defending my home for thousands of years and no matter how we try to preserve the light, it inevitably wanes and we lose what little ground we have gained."

Aragorn straightened. "You feel responsible don't you?"

Legolas sighed and glanced back warily at the approaching orcs. "I suppose. As a prince and a warrior, I feel it is my obligation to protect my people from the evil that is devouring this land. Yet I can't."

"Legolas trust me. You are the light to your people. I can see it in their eyes and read it in their hearts. They know what you go through to see to it that their sleep is not disturbed in the night." Aragorn paused. "I know what you go through as well. Right now you are serving them and you will not fail. Any darkness that we can vanquish is victory enough."

The elf closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Aragorn watched him intently and not without concern. Sometimes finding the strength to believe was a large part of the battle, and although it never ever really did die or fade from the heart, finding it was the difficult part.

After a few long moments, Legolas opened his eyes and tilted his head as an unreadable expression played across his face. "Estel," he murmured and his eyes drifted downward for the briefest moment. "Your name is just."

Aragorn allowed a trace of a smile to appear before he rearranged his features into a more serious expression. He reassuringly placed a hand on Legolas's shoulder. "There is always hope, mellon nin. And it is worth fighting for." He gazed at the masses of orcs marching closer to the deep and Legolas saw only unbreakable determination on his friend's face. The fight had been won. Hope, faith, determination and belief had been restored in the end. And he knew, in that moment that they would not lose, because even if all of them did die, the fight would be a victory in itself, and nobody, not Sauromon or Sauron or any countless evil of Middle Earth, could ever take that away from them.

"It's nearly time," he murmured and turned to leave.

"Aragorn," Legolas called after him.

Aragorn turned and looked at him curiously.

"Hannon le."

A smile broke across the human's face. "There is no thanks in order, Legolas." He turned to leave but then glanced back. "Oh, and I believe Gimli is looking for you."

"I will find him," Legolas promised and watched with a small smile on his face as the man called "Hope" disappeared into the darkness.

He let his gaze rest on the shadows of men in the keep carrying burning torches brightly like stars, their chain army glinting dully from the light of the fire. It was strange, he mused, how a single light could illuminate the darkness around it.

A roar of rage enveloped the silence as the orcs began to chant again in the black tongue and a single rain drop as cold as ice fell from the sky and splattered on the elf's hand. Legolas glanced at the swollen rain clouds overhead and felt the reassuring hilt of the sword by his side. Aragorn was right though. Hope was never worth letting go of because some things in life were worth fighting for, and now, the time had come for just that.

**The End**

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